


Office Cuddles

by fandom_susceptible



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Late War, M/M, Poor Jazz, Sleepy Cuddles, let him rest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 22:30:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12094836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_susceptible/pseuds/fandom_susceptible
Summary: Jazz has had a long few cycles, and he can't recharge without his bondmate.  Prowl is working and can't leave his office.  They compromise.





	Office Cuddles

     Prowl looked up when his door slid open without chiming, mildly surprised and irritated.  He couldn’t have been in here long enough to require a break or even the end of his shift.  What could Jazz possibly want?

     Oddly enough, the saboteur didn’t dance inside with music playing, nor did he immediately announce his reasons for entering.  Once the door was shut behind him his visor dulled, his door wings drooped, and his ever-present smile faded.  He still said nothing, instead walking further into the office, around the desk to Prowl’s chair, moving his hand out of the way and settling into his lap, black helm tucked into his neck cables.

     Prowl cycled his optics, too surprised to react immediately. “Jazz?” He asked tentatively.  One arm had automatically wrapped around beneath his mate’s door wings to help steady him.

     The Polyhexian made a vague noise and nuzzled his neck, visor powered down as he snuggled closer into the white and black frame.

     The Praxian looked down at him, perplexed, and probed gently along the bond. : _Jazz?_ : He asked again, internally.

     : _Jus’ tired, Prowler._ : Jazz’s bond-voice sounded exhausted. : _Up all night worryin’ about Mirage.  Takin’ care of Mezzo.  They both back wit’ . . . somebody . . ._ : His words blurred together into a tired mess of feelings.

     As always when his battle computer and Tac-Net were on full power and Jazz’s emotions assaulted him through the bond, Prowl felt a blooming processor ache.  He shunted the pain to the background and studied the sensations.  Essentially, relief and recharge deprivation had made Jazz exhausted, and now Mirage and Mezzo were safe—he checked the schedule briefly, satisfied when he saw that the Seekers’ daycare was running—his mate just wanted to rest.

     : _And you thought my office would be a more appropriate location than our quarters?_ : Prowl asked, mildly amused, prodding Jazz a little more toward wakefulness.

     Another vague noise. : _Quarters don’t have ****._ :

     Prowl’s normal vocabulary failed him on that word.  He quickly searched his latent databanks, finding the Polyhexian dialect dictionary easily enough.  The glyph didn’t directly translate, but seemed to mean comfort/warmth.

     He smiled a little indulgently. : _What about the berth?_ :

     : _Cold.  No Prowl._ : Jazz’s petulant response made him chuckle.

     : _All right, my love._ : Prowl murmured over the bond. : _As long as I can keep working._ : He took the pressing closer as confirmation. “Teletraan, lock the door.” He did have a reputation to maintain after all.  By the time he turned his attention back to Jazz, the saboteur was asleep in his arms.

     He gave a soft, secret little smile and returned to his datapad.


End file.
